


"I'm sorry."

by Prescottpower



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Other, Twenty One Pilots Cameo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:02:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7879330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prescottpower/pseuds/Prescottpower





	"I'm sorry."

Fuck, he was a mess.  
A drunken, drug addicted mess.  
Stumbling along the walls of Blackwell’s dorms, his knees caved in and sent him crashing into his door.  
He groaned as he let his cheek slide down the cool oak wood.  
Fumbling around with his keys, he finally found the energy to open his door, to his dismay it was already unlocked.  
“Dumb, Nate. Dumb...move.”  
He could hardly find the words to speak as he silently scolded himself for his reckless actions.  
He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t rely on the medicine, or the drugs, or the alcohol, or anything else he so carelessly indulged in.  
Sometimes, it was an awful combination of the three.  
Without any of it, he would be walking around emotionlessly, shouting out a slur of insults and crude sentences to anyone who looked at him in any manner.  
They thought he was bad, they should meet his father.  
Then they would think he was some sort of gift from god.  
Sean Prescott explained nearly every issue that was mentally, and physically wrong with Nathan.  
The anxiety that ran through his blood, the Bipolar disorder that fucked with his mentality, the depression that kept him up at night pulling his hair out and swatting at demons that weren’t even there,  
only in his head.  
“Sean prescott...can go to…”  
A hiccup escaped his lips as he slammed his door shut, crawling over to the radio system sitting near his bed.  
“Hell.”  
He mumbled the world like it was death itself.  
Letting his finger collide with the play button on his system, he stood up.  
The room spinning as he removed his shoes and threw them at the door.  
The increasingly loud sound blared from the speakers,  
each lively keyboard note and drumming crash drifted in through his ears as soft as honey.  
This was his favorite song, he couldn’t quite remember a time his smile was as big as the one that was plastered on currently.  
Slowly he sank down onto the floor, his shirt sliding up from the fabric grazing the door.  
His fingers aimlessly tapped on the floor, trying to mimic the notes that played, he sang along.  
“I wake up fine and dandy, but by the time I find it handy,  
to rip my heart apart and start planning my crash landing,”  
His pale pointer finger raised up to the ceiling as he continued to shout out.  
“i go up,up,up,up,up to the ceiling. Then I feel my soul start leaving,   
like an old man’s hair receding.”  
He lifted his head just enough to send it crashing back into the door, as he shut up to listen to the lyrics instead. The rage started to bubble inside, he could feel the anger grabbing at his veins.  
Screaming in his mind, all the time.  
One night of silence was all he wanted.  
As a prescott, he could get anything he wanted that was valuable with money,  
but silence was asking for too much apparently.  
He didn’t remember standing up from the floor, but he felt himself kick his shoes aside.  
His cold, blue eyes drifted off to the certificate hanging carelessly on the wall.  
Best son in the world.  
The edges slightly torn, the color fading from all the years gone by.  
His mind was flying back to the many memories of his father screaming at him, throwing various objects, the freezing fist that collided with his cheek, the foot that rammed into his stomach.  
Don’t fuck it up son.  
I’m not proud of you yet.  
“Fuck you...fuck you.” He spat at the wall in disgust. Ready to wrap his fingers around the edges and tear it off before he stopped to remember, this is what he was striving to be…  
Throwing it away would mean throwing away what he once was.  
How could he forget?  
The pressure to be the best son in the world was stronger than when he was 7 years old.  
Pressure that sat on his shoulders like a fucking mountain, the weight was unbearable.  
But oh no, anything to keep up the family name. If he could even call it a family.  
The prescott family was more like a circus of strangers, all plucked from the street with opposite interests, and different opinions, it was like putting these people in a room and asking them a series of philosophical questions...there was no similarities.  
Nathan wanted to be a photographer, desperately attempting to recreate the types of images Edgar Allan Poe, and Stephen king wrote about.  
The loneliness captured in the death of an animal, or the hollowness of a grave digger at night.  
His father…  
he chuckled to himself.  
His father only cared about ruling the world, and gaining money.

“Why won’t you let me go?  
Do I threaten all your plans?  
I’m insignificant, please tell them.”

His fingers wrapped around the camera that rested on his desk, in a mere second it was crashing into the surface of his wall across from him.  
The tiny, yet ridiculously expensive camera broke apart into tiny shatters, raining onto his floor, the sound of sprinkling glass echoing through his eardrums like a morbidly beautiful symphony.  
Destruction,  
this was what he lived for.  
The edges of his mouth curled up, as he felt a snarl sneakily escape his lips.  
Reaching for the chair right next to him, he stood back just enough to slam it into the wall.  
The cheap wood fell apart after 2 or 3 hits, fuck, he wasn’t counting.  
But he was seeing red, and his eyes darkened at the sight of every breakable object in his dorm room.  
His heartbeat quickened, sweat dripped off of his forehead onto his jagged collarbones, his fingernails dug into his skin as his fists closed up, pacing in his room he wanted to break…  
everything.  
He grabbed the corners of his couch and flipped it over, it crashed with a harsh thud to the side of him.   
His hands gripped the sides of the plasma and he tore it off the wall it was planted on, moronically grasping at the electrical wires in the back of it.   
“I’m not free, I asked forgiveness three times.”  
His screams were louder than the band blasting through the speakers…  
But the crashes of the furniture around him were louder than any scream he could muster to release.  
As his posters fell to the floor, he himself collapsed to the floor as well.  
“I’m sorry.”  
The band faded out, and all that was left was the silence that accompanied the storm.  
His hands stretched out onto the floor in front of him.  
His ragged breaths filled the chaotic room.  
He looked over to the gun on the desk, the atmosphere around him slowing down.  
The air became thicker as he breathed, thinking…  
“I could do it…” he whispered, the cracked lamp tipped onto the floor now shining no light, it flickered on and off.  
Instead the moonlight appeared in through the closed blinds, the shadows of trees dancing on his now bare walls.  
He stood up, completely in a trance, fixated on this release, the idea of a happily ever after.  
He clutched it to his chest, the barrel still full, he never shot anything or anyone.  
No matter how many times the opportunity arrived, all bark, no bite.  
The stainless metal glimmered in the light, it looked beautiful to Nathan.  
He couldn’t blink, he couldn’t clearly think, his breathing had ceased.  
“I could do it...I could leave.”  
He tilted his head as the gun went from one hand to the other, then back to the other hand.

The sudden banging of a fist woke him from the scary thoughts, it startled the gun out of his hand, he watched it as it scattered across the floor.  
“Hey Nathan, it’s like 2 in the morning, can you keep it down in there? i’m trying to fucking sleep.” Nathan looked to the door as he heard the groggy voice of Hayden.  
“My-my bad, Hayden. S-sorry.” He stuttered, as he put his fist into his mouth and bit down, hayden’s footsteps now becoming a memory.  
Way too lazy to evoke all the effort to climb into bed, he rested on the ground, closing his eyes as he stared at the ceiling.  
“What have I become?  
I’ll tell them”  
His heavy eyes closed, and sleep now replaced the dry stains of tears.


End file.
